The Image Journey

Published October 16, 2020 by avardw

Toronto Gone – Random scenes, random moments

random scenes, random moments, colour, photography, — High Park, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

I enjoy capturing random scenes and random moments–a stream of consciousness approach that is a bit like meditation with a camera. When I used to walk around Toronto with my camera in the 1980s, I usually had nothing special in mind that I wanted to photograph. The same is true today, some forty years later. It could be the right light or interesting patterns, or a sudden silhouette, any number of things that propel me to press the shutter. The capturing of random scenes is both a strength and a weakness. One one hand there is an absolute freedom to it–capturing anything that gets my attention. On the other side, if there is often no project in mind it seems aimless.

I have learned over time to see themes in my photos that may become apparent after years or may be pointed out by viewers online. That’s part of the beauty of the random approach. It’s like letting your mind wander with a camera in hand, then putting a shape to it later on. For me, editing is a more difficult task than taking the photos, but both are rewarding.

The photos I have chosen for this post have been scanned quite recently, so I find a freshness to them even though they were taken decades ago. Probably only 10 percent of my output in the 1980s was in colour, and for this reason I have a special fondness for them.

The series “Toronto Gone” puts a focus on things that have disappeared–buildings, businesses, parking lots, cars, people that used to be a part of the city in the 1980s and 1990s prior to the condo boom, and before the widespread use of computers and cell phones.

Downtown Toronto, 1982 – © Avard Woolaver

Colour Photography Toronto

colour photography random scenes Toronto Gone

Published October 10, 2020 by avardw

Recent black and white photos

During the pandemic I have been in relative isolation, and have taken some comfort in returning to black and white photography. It takes me back to the late 1970s when I first learned to process and print black and white film. These days, however, I shoot everything digitally in colour, and do the conversions to monochrome later–it leaves more options.

I’m in my early sixties, which means I grew up with a black-and-white television. When I was young our TV got two channels, both of them snowy. Even shows that had been filmed in colour were, in our household and others like ours, translated into varying shades of grey.

And I loved paging through Life magazine; there, too, reality was shown in black and white. It became my default understanding of what a photo was.

Old family photos in my parents’ and grandparents’ albums, similarly, were in black and white. We had colour film, of course, and I enjoyed my father’s colour slides (shown on a big screen in the living room when we had company or at Christmas). But the basic set of beliefs I had about photos or images was that they were in black and white.

I think there’s some level at which, when I got seriously into photography in my twenties, I was working from that assumption. I still love looking at tonal variation and shades of grey—how a black-and-white photo can contain everything from deepest inky black to a pale, foggy, mist, to white and nearly silver. Black and white isn’t lacking, or second-best; it’s just different. American photographer Robert Frank called it the colours of hope and despair.

And it’s not better. There can be a kind of high-handedness about it, a sort of snooty, superior quality. A whiff of reading Russian novels at breakfast and watching only foreign films, an “I’m better than you” air. That’s an empty pretense, though. There doesn’t need to be any message in using it.

It’s beautiful. Colour is beautiful. Both are great—a pleasure to shoot, a pleasure to look at.

Black and White Photography

black and white monochrome photography

Published October 3, 2020 by avardw

Toronto Gone – allokataplixis – seeing the city for the first time

Toronto Skyline from Bleecker Street, Toronto, 1980 – © Avard Woolaver

There’s a new word for describing the marvel of seeing a place for the first time. It is allokataplixis, a conjunction of two Greek words: allo, meaning “other,” and katapliktiko, meaning “wonder.” Professor Liam Heneghan of DePaul University in Chicago coined the word in 2018. He had been taking his students to Ireland every year and noted that they delighted in many things–the food, the smell of the air, architectural details, the local language, as well as many small things they had never seen before. Heneghan grew up in Ireland, but had lived in the United States for many years and no longer looked at Ireland with fresh eyes or noticed its peculiarities. His word really describes my experience of discovering Toronto for the first time. Fresh eyes notice things that accustomed eyes don’t.

The above photo, taken in 1980 shortly after I arrived in Toronto, seems to be a good example of allokataplixis. I had grown up in the country, and never lived in the city. In the first several months everything seemed brand new and my photography studies at Ryerson meant that I had a camera in hand at all times to capture what I saw. I discovered the photo just recently while scanning negatives, and it’s like seeing it for the first time. I marvel now at the numerous geometric shapes, and the contrast between the old buildings and the modern ones in the background. And how the old fashioned antenna and power pole seem to dwarf the CN Tower. After having lived in Toronto for twenty years, I can no longer see it with country eyes. When I visit now, everything seems familiar.

allokataplixis, Toronto, seeing, photography — Carlton Street, Toronto, 1980 – © Avard Woolaver

Observation Photography Toronto

allokataplixis photography seeing Toronto Toronto Gone

Published September 28, 2020 by avardw

Toronto Gone – Toronto Stock Exchange, 1981

Toronto Stock Exchange, trading floor, Bay Street — Toronto Stock Exchange, Toronto, 1981 – © Avard Woolaver

In the fall of 1981, I photographed the Toronto Stock Exchange (TSE) for a school project at Ryerson. I spent three or four mornings on a viewing platform that looked down on the trading floor, trying to capture the activity and mood of the place. I remember borrowing a 300mm lens from the school–the longest lens I have ever used. The focus was so critical and as the lighting was relatively dim, I had to push the film to get adequate depth of field. I was satisfied with the results and produced a slide show programmed with a Wollensak, using the Beatles’ “Baby, You’re a Rich Man” as a soundtrack.

Looking back at these images after almost forty years, they look like relics of a different era. There are big clunky monitors, rotary phones, and paper slips strewn everywhere. There is almost a complete absence of women (they are still a minority, making up an estimated 10 to 15 percent of traders). A few women are visible, however, changing numbers on the boards, but not doing any trading. Traders are buying and selling on the phone, as well as yelling and using hand signals–a beehive of activity.

The Toronto Stock Exchange was on Bay Street in those days, in the elegant art deco building it occupied for sixty years–1937 to 1997. It then moved to the Exchange Tower on King Street, and is now the TSX. The trading floor has been replaced by an electronic trading system; gone are the men in suits, frantically yelling and gesturing. Most major exchanges in the world have also abandoned the “open outcry” method, except for the United States, where several exchanges (including the New York Mercantile Exchange and New York Stock Exchange) remain old-school.

Stephen Simpson in Investopedia talks about the pros and cons of open outcry trading. “Certainly computers are faster, cheaper, more efficient and less error-prone with routine trades – though the error rate in open outcry trading is surprisingly low. What’s more, computers are at least theoretically better for regulators in creating data trails that can be followed when there are suspicions of illegal activity. That said, electronic trading is not perfect and open outcry has some unique features. Because of the human element, traders who can “read” people may be at an advantage when it comes to picking up non-verbal cues on the motives and intentions of counter-parties. Perhaps analogous to the world of poker, there are some players who thrive as much on reading the players as playing the odds – and electronic trading removes those signals from the equation.“

Toronto Stock Exchange, TSE, Bay Street — Toronto Stock Exchange, Toronto, 1981 – © Avard Woolaver

Toronto Stock Exchange, TSE, trading floor — Toronto Stock Exchange, Toronto, 1981 – © Avard Woolaver

Black and White Documentary Photography Toronto

1981 documentary photography photography Toronto Stock Exchange

Published September 26, 2020 by avardw

Wish You Were Here – Curious Scenes in 2020

Wish You Were Here, surrealism, — Brooklyn, Nova Scotia, 2020 – © Avard Woolaver

My Wish You Were Here series aims to challenge the viewers’ attention in a subtle way by finding everyday scenes with elements of whimsy and surrealism. Like Rene Magritte, and Lee Friedlander, I want to make the familiar seem a little strange, but without Photoshop and image manipulation. These photos come about through observation, using juxtaposition, reflection, typography, and scale.

This project has been ongoing for several years now, and also have a black and white series called Wish You Were Here – Monochrome Dreaming. As 2020 has been such a strange and unusual year, I thought these 2020 photos, since the start of the pandemic, may be appropriate for the times.

Here is the introduction to the book, self published in 2018: “When I was a teenage boy in the mid-Seventies, living in rural Nova Scotia, I spent hours studying the album covers created by Hipgnosis, the London-based design group. This was before I grew interested in photography, but, as LPs like Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” or “Ummagumma” played on the turntable, I scrutinized the covers, trying to penetrate the mysteries of the evocative, layered visual compositions. My “Wish You Were Here” is an ongoing photographic project that’s been in the works for several years. I aim to capture images that have a sense of the surreal yet are readily seen in everyday life. Additionally, I try to capture the sense of whimsy and humour that I liked about those album covers. The images come about through observation, rather than with Photoshop or other manipulations. For me, that’s an important aspect of the project–there’s no manipulation of the image. Reflections, juxtaposition, and scale all come into play.”